


Distance

by OomSomeairah



Category: Ylvis
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OomSomeairah/pseuds/OomSomeairah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegard is left to deal with the insecurity of a long distance relationship, but soon finds that him and his brother are separated by more than just an ocean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distance

_Bård had closed the bathroom door behind him, but the sound of teenagers toasting beer bottles wasn't far. His dorm quickly reached full capacity; occupied by both friends and strangers who were eager to share the post-performance adrenaline still blossoming in their stomachs and, despite the open windows, he couldn't escape the heat that rolled off of their bodies. Moreover, confined to the depths of his own excitement, the ringing inside of his head was difficult to separate from the ring of the phone pressed to his ear. In spite of all of this, Bård was determined to make the call. And so he paced inside of the tiny bathroom --receiver in hand and chords a tangled mess-- until Vegard finally picked up._

_"Hello?"_

_Bård smiled. It had been only weeks since their small theater group left Norway, but he was growing tired of the drawling American accents that surrounded them. As sleepy and rough as his brother's voice was, it was also infinitely soothing._

_"Hi," Bård replied dumbly. There was a shuffling on the other end before Vegard continued._

_"Who-"_

_"It's Bård."_

_"Jesus," Vegard gave a breathy laugh, "You sound like a fucking serial killer, stop breathing into the phone like that."_

_"Sorry, we just finished a show."_

_"Yeah? How was it?"_

_Bård took a seat on the edge of the tub as he tried to formulate an appropriate answer. Things had gone better than they'd prepared for: the audience was attentive to even scenes that seemed slightly lost in translation and some of them had been photographed for a local paper as they left the theater. More and more each night, standing on a stage, being here to perform, felt important. But, in an annoyingly transparent process, the rush of it all deluded to guilt._

_"It was good," Bård replied._

_"Spare me. You were great, lives were changed," Vegard rambled through a loud yawn, "Norway is dulled by the absence of your shining talent."_

_Yeah," Bård laughed, "but that's not why I called."_

_"Alright."_

_"Happy Birthday."_

_There were a few moments of silence before Bård considered the possibility of their line being cut. He peered down to the phone's chord, wrapped in coils around his legs, but as he reached to untangle them the sound of Vegard clearing his throat assured him otherwise. "What?" Bård asked, "Why aren't you saying anything?"_

_"It's nothing," Vegard replied._

_"Sounds a lot like something."_

_"I can't say it now," Vegard paused to shed a somber chuckle, "I'll sound like a complete ass hole."_

_"You already sound like a complete ass hole. Just say it." Bård plugged his ear with one finger, struggling to hear his brother's muffled response through another round of cheers on the other side of the bathroom door._

_"When you didn't call-..." Vegard paused, "I don't know. I thought you forgot."_

_Immediately, Bård's eyes scanned the stuffy bathroom, as if amongst the collages of naked women and obscene words pasted on the walls he could find some sort of explanation for Vegard's doubts. "Today's May 19th," Bård exclaimed. He hadn't meant to pose the statement as a question, but the longer the idea sat with him the farther his hesitance extended. "It's the 19th: your birthday...Why would you think I forgot?"_

_Vegard's reply was apprehensive. "It's already the 20th in Norway."_

_He waited for his brother to catch on, but the silence left too much time for Vegard to realize the neediness in his grievance. Birthdays had never been anything he cared much about, until now seemingly, and Bård's lack of words only made him increasingly desperate to remedy the discomfort of his own inquiry. "I told you it was stupid. I didn't mean to say it like that."_

_"No," Bård blurted, "It's not stupid." An impatient knock at the door interrupted his apology. "I should have thought about the time difference earlier-- written it down on a fucking calendar."_

_As Bård stood up from the edge of the bathtub a boy with glazed over eyes stuck his head into the room. He motioned for Bård to join them outside, spilling beer as he swung his hand, but clearly couldn't register the intent behind Bård's shooing. "Vegard?" he cupped his hand over the phone, hoping to drown out the noise now intruding on their conversation, "Listen, I have to go. I'm going to make this up to you. I swear."_

_Vegard didn't have time to protest to his brother's farewell or to round off the conversation, so instead he sought a promise. "I'll talk to you later?"_

_"Yeah, we will. And, Vegard-," Bård's eyes flickered to the boy still waiting for him at the door. "I'm sorry. For your birthday and everything."_

_"It's okay, Bård. Good night."_

 

* * *

 

 

Vegard leaned against the refrigerator and counted down the seconds until he would be expected to nod again. He’d become daring after the first fifteen minutes and thrown in the occasional ‘wow’ or ‘that’s crazy’: things he thought the plucky American boy in front of him would like to hear, but it didn’t take long before even that had become a hassle. And yet, despite the disinterest Vegard otherwise had in having one sided conversations with strangers, it was also a slight relief. It gave him time to settle, to think.

He wondered briefly how a person could embark on a --Vegard checked his watch-- half hour long discussion with someone who only understood a fraction of the words being exchanged. A "hey" on his way to grabbing a beer had seemingly been enough to convince people he was fluent in English.

He wondered, less briefly, how he'd ended up in the United States at all.

There hadn't been plans or schedules; not truthfully. He'd more or less haggled his way onto the first boarding flight and found himself in the middle of Bård's (temporary) American life. It hardly seemed complicated. Though, standing in the center of a party filled with people Vegard had met only hours earlier, it occurred to him that he'd avoided questioning the adrenaline pushing him forward-- didn't care to find the roots of it all and didn't care to nurse them either. He was somehow certain that further examination would only ruin the high. Instead he let his mind reel like an endless record.

His mind had drifted, without permission, to the whereabouts of his brother for the umpteenth time that night before Bård finally re-appeared. Refraining from lighting up completely at the sight of him in the doorway was difficult, but Vegard managed to boil his affection down to a curt nod.

“Grabbing a drink,” Bård explained to the room.

The room consisted of Vegard, a boy whose name was probably John or Robert or something of the sort, and a couple kissing sloppily on the kitchen counter. Nonetheless, they'd all seemed to have looked up when Bård entered.

Upon realizing that his little brother was only a visitor in their outcast refugee, Vegard’s attention drifted remorsefully back to translating the rushed sentences he'd spent most of the night ignoring. From the collection of words gushing from the American boy's mouth, he could only understand a single phrase: "You know what I mean?" Vegard continued to nod regardless of the lie.

By definition of rule, Vegard had imagined his brother would mirror his nonchalance. Nothing in the way Bård ventured further into the kitchen or rinsed a cup that had been laying sideways in the sink alluded to flirtation, but as he approached Vegard and gently snaked his arm around his waist, their charades seemed to fall flat.

Vegard's brows furrowed, unsure of the role his brother expected him to play. "Bård?"

With a grin, Bård guided his brother away from the refrigerator. “Grabbing a drink,” he reminded Vegard before bending down to inspect the contents inside. He continued the conversation, without missing a single beat, from behind the fridge's door, this time in Norwegian. "You look miserable."

Vegard had barely gathered himself by the time his brother resurfaced. "I'm not miserable." His eye's flickered to the other teenagers in the room, searching for any signs of comprehension in the face of his less than skillfully delivered lie.

"They can't understand it," Bård reassured him, "Norwegian or gibberish, it's like the same language to them: nonsense."

"I know, I just don't want them to think-..."

Shifting his stare to the American boy, who'd found his own entertainment in watching the television from where he stood in the kitchen, Bård chuckled. "They don't 'think' anything, Vegard. I promise."

"Just because they're American doesn't mean they've got a single digit I.Q."

"Come on," Bård tsked, "That's not what I meant." In spite of his efforts, the hesitance on Vegard's face didn't fade. "And you don't look very sharp yourself."

"Jet lag," Vegard replied. Without apology, he reached for the glass bottle in his brother's hand and took a swig, stalling behind the promise of Bård's chagrin. Whether it really was jet lag or errant thoughts weighing him down, Vegard could feel the buzzing under his skin fading and the prospect was undesirable.

"Don't want to ruin your fun there, but if you vomit, you won't be the first to christen our toilets tonight," Bård chuckled.

Vegard cringed at the thought, more obviously than he'd intended to, but Bård had already grabbed the dripping beer from his hand and set it on the counter "C'mere."

Vegard let himself be dragged by the sleeve into the next room where, in slight dread, he'd realized the heart of the party had been stirring. He was almost intimidated by the groups of teenagers gathered around each other, finding their centers of gravity amongst those most willing to entertain with drinking games or conversation. The lack of reserve was hardly a surprise. They were theater kids after all, but they were also Bård's friends. The hand pulling him forward and into the chaos served to prove Vegard's point that his brother liked to occupy a certain role as a performer, however he was also intuitive - he knew his audience. It didn't require stepping over any lines for Bård to realize his limits. Vegard envied him for it.

Not yet halfway through the room, a burly man caught his eye. It seemed almost impossible that Vegard hadn't noticed him before. He wasn't tall in the way that Bård was, but the closer they came towards the beaten couch he was sat upon, the easier it was for Vegard to attribute his largeness to maturity rather than genetics. He seemed out of place amongst the rest of them. Apparently, though, not as much as Vegard had thought. As if provoked by Vegard’s suspicions, the man's hand reached to stop Bård in his tracks  before they could stumbled their way through the crowd and slip by the sofa,

"Did you get it?" The man twisted in his seat to face them, gracelessly phasing out of his previous conversation in order to catch Bård's attention.

Confusion furrowed between two brows, Bård shook his head. "Was I meant to pick something up for-"

"The script. Hanne said she'd given them out at a meeting or something. You weren't there and none of us were about to track your ass down."

The man hardly looked like a conversationalist. His harsh choice in words were hypocritical to the ease with which he spoke, but through the authoritative front Vegard found his stare lingering only upon the man's hands, still latched onto Bård's wrist.

"Shit," Bård swore, "I completely forgot about the script...Shit," he swore again.

As if he'd expected nothing less, the man shifted in his seat and reached into his pants pocket. "Here," he unclasped Bård's hand and dropped a lanyard strung with keys into his palm. "This your brother?" he gestured indefinitely towards Vegard.

Vegard pretended to be interested in the hockey game blasting from the television, both embarrassed that he hadn't introduced himself earlier and profoundly uninspired to admit that he'd made himself the only thing on his brother's agenda that day.

"Take him with you," the man continued, "You'll need his help breaking in. And he looks like he needs the air."

Bård gave a halfhearted smile before giving his thanks and heading onward. Though he was curious, Vegard felt too scrutinized --not yet out from under the microscope-- to inquire the details of the exchange he'd just witnessed.

They left the party behind to enter an empty hallway, lacking apart from the rows of doors on either side and the occasional flickering light bulb. Following in suit, although not as closely as before, Vegard admired the state his brother was living in. Him and at least a dozen others had been sharing the apartment while in town, but their rent had been funded by the theater and it was painfully obvious. The exposed brick walls could thankfully pass off as a stylistic choice rather than an inconvenience. "This place doesn't look quite like shit," Vegard ventured "For what it's worth."

Bård scoffed as they entered a bedroom Vegard could only assume was his brothers. "Yeah, well it’s worth more than you would think. The Grace of Monaco lives next door-- what a sweetheart. Great tits," he added.

While his brother unceremoniously pulled the duvet cover back from his bed, Vegard peered at the carton of cigarettes and condom that had been tacked to his wall. Underneath the words "For Emergency Use Only" had been scratched in marker. "Classy," he said.

"It's a compliment," Bård returned.

Vegard turned to face his brother, who had, without explanation, gotten on his knees and begun digging for something between the mattress and the frame of his bed. "I meant the wall," he pointed behind him with his thumb.

Peering behind Vegard, Bård's confusion turned to recollection. "My room-mate," he assured, "I would offer to introduce you, but he left when he heard you were here."

Vegard was thankful that his brother wasn't looking him in the eyes. He was certain they'd dilated. Ambiguity was something of a given when it came to their relationship here, and the idea that Bård's room mate, a stranger, might have assumed he was interrupting an affair beyond kinship pulled at something deep in his chest. As subtly as he could manage, Vegard evaluated the sizes of the beds: small but not impossible to fit two.

"Bård?" Vegard asked as he came to sit upon his brother's creaking mattress. Bård hummed a response from below the bed. Whatever he was in search of, it seemed he was having little luck; his arms skating back and forth against the carpet. "Who was that? That guy you were talking to before?"

"Arn," Bård replied.

A part of Vegard was hesitant to push his brother further into specifics, his response had seemed almost blatantly deflective, but a larger part of him had already latched onto the resent of not knowing: an infinitely worse fate. He nudged Bård with his foot, "And he is...? Your mentor? Director?" Egged on by his brother's silence, Vegard muttered, "Way too old to be hanging out with a bunch of teenagers?"

"He's only five or six years older than you."

"Yeah," Vegard muttered, "which means he's eight or nine years older than you."

Bård rose from beneath the bed, shedding a cautionary look that their time apart had nearly stolen from Vegard's memory. Phone calls and letters couldn't do it justice-- couldn't stop him in his tracks like it did in the flesh. Leaning back onto his elbows, Vegard attempted to cover up his criticism with logic. "I just don't get why he's here, drinking beer with kids who aren't even legal yet."

Before he spoke, Vegard watched his brother glance at the door. A small sliver of the hallway peeked through, but Bård didn't seem put off by it, only bothering to lower his voice to a dull monotone. "The girl he had his arm around..." Bård began.

Vegard nodded, although he could conjure only a brief image. Whether she was attached to him at the hip or under his waiting arm, a girl was the last thing Vegard would have noticed about Arn.

"They're together."

"I’ve only seen kids here."

Bård nodded, skimming past the confines of subtlety.

"Oh..." Vegard picked at the downy sheets on his brother's bed, trying to imagine the seventeen year old girl that would find Arn attractive. The girl that would willingly submit herself to a man almost double her age. There was very little he had the right to say; he knew that. Arn had seemed none too gentle and almost unapologetically blunt, but Vegard couldn't claim those details to hold every measure of his morality. Despite knowing this, knowing not to open a book from the middle and expect to understand its story, Vegard found his every judgment pandering to the memory of Arn's hands. They'd been rough and calloused, without a trace of a wedding ring. They'd held tight to Bård like a hand cuff.

"That's...not normal," Vegard sat up straighter, "He's obviously got an okay life. He's working with the theater, it's not like 'hard times' are exactly a driving factor there." He searched for his brother's gaze, but found that Bård's had already drifted to his feet. "No one else thinks that that's a little weird?"

"I don't know, they always seem fine... People like him. He knows everyone here and I've heard he's really looking to get us noticed," Bård replied hesitantly.

"I get it, Bård-- that it's a big deal and everything, I just don't think you should get too involved with him if you don't have to. Letting a bunch of kids drink is one thing, but taking one of them home at the end of the night is, like, an entirely different level of creepy. It's bad news."

"You were the one who wanted to know," Bård quipped, "I wouldn't have told you if I knew you were going to be weird about it."

"Why wouldn't I be weird about it?"

"I just thought because-..." Realizing that the words about to leave his mouth weren't worth their weight in subsequent guilt, Bård retracted. As the conversation lingered their voices had echoed louder throughout the room. The realization inspired him to relent. "I don't know. Let's just drop it, it's not like it has anything to do with us anyways."

Vegard was somewhat surprised by the catch in Bård's voice, but he recognized it's implications: a signal he'd chosen the wrong answer. He laid back on the bed, landing on the mattress with a dramatic thump. "Not for nothing, but apparently it does. And apparently that also entails breaking into someone's house."

"He was joking, Vegard."

"Was he?"

"Yes, I'm fairly certain he didn't literally intend for us to break into private property," Bård replied, voice riddled with apathy, "They're keys to the theater-- the theater we do our rehearsals in. I'm not planning on getting us convicted for the sake of a script and unless I've grossly misjudged Arn's will to throw his own actors in jail, neither is he."

"Well, I don't know how things are here." Wanting desperately to make up for his misstep, Vegard followed his brother into the realm of dramatics, "How you've changed. It's very possible that America is turning you into a kleptomaniac."

"Shut up," Bård replied, "Honestly, it's like there's no 'off' button on you." Vegard had been staring at the water stains that blossomed across his brother's ceiling, but the sound of Bård's teasing was enough to kindle an image of his affection.  "Although, I doubt you'd really mind it. Bad boys were always kind of your type."

"What?" Vegard lifted his head, eye brows raised as his brother feigned thoughtful reflection.

"Maybe you're just attracted to moral struggle," Bård rambled.

"What are you on about?"

"Remember when Petter stole those cigarettes?" Bård shuffled across the floor to be closer to his brother's side, folding his arms upon Vegard's leg and resting his chin there like a doting child. "God, it was like Fatal Attraction: The Sequel  featuring a debatably erect, sixteen year old Vegard. I thought I nearly lost you there. "

Vegard bounced his foot in retaliation, jerking Bård's chin upwards. "Federal crime doesn't turn me on."

"Right," Bård argued, "That's why it's a debate."

In spite of the position he was in, one that Vegard had mistakenly labeled innocent, he could feel his brother's hand wandering farther up his thigh with every second wasted on conversation.

"You know, I used to make fake I.D's for my friends. Your's too when they came over after school," Bård announced.

"What are you trying to say?" Vegard asked, suspicious of his brother's unwavering stare.

In lieu of an answer, Bård's grip tightened through the denim fabric and though Vegard refused to look Bård in the eye, in his peripheral vision he could see his brother biting his own tongue, trying to hold back the smile that would reveal the truth. That he was playing the game just as much for himself as he was for Vegard. "I'm saying that you're on the losing side of the debate," Bård replied.

The bed creaked as Vegard sat up, leaning forward to meet Bård's mouth with his own. He only dared to greet his brother with lingering pecks --Vegard was too self conscious to deny Bård of breath for the sake of his own need-- but quickly complied when he felt his brother's body inviting him forward. They'd gone as far before, and yet a spark of joy still ignited itself in light of Bård's willingness to share himself. 

The give and take, however, was as clear as it always had been as Bård placed his palm on Vegard's chest, pushing his back down to the mattress. Gently, Bård tugged at his brother's shirt, revealing only enough skin to place soft kisses along the crease in Vegard's hip. 

How he could have forgotten his brother's touch, he didn't know, but the heat that rolled through Vegard's body was serving as a welcomed mnemonic. His heart beat fast as he let his head fall back onto the mattress. 

Through the fever and rush Vegard's attempts to ground himself only left his mind whirling. He'd spent weeks miserable without Bård, but now, with his brother before him at last, it seemed like he'd reached the peak in his seclusion. Despite the ache growing between his legs, which he was sure his brother had noticed, an even stronger longing hummed through his chest. Bård was sat in front of him, running his fingers along the hills of his rib cage and it still wouldn't be enough to satisfy this starvation. It called out to Vegard, begging to be closer. He missed Bård every second his lips left his skin and he missed him ten times more than he had when they were oceans apart. 

It was both the most stunning, and the most lonely sensation Vegard had ever experienced because as earnestly as he might try, Vegard could never describe how much he longed for a person who was only a kiss away. 

He only wished that he was still striving for dignity. It felt, to Vegard, that the longer he'd been with Bård, as more than just a brother, the harder it became to keep his grip. He'd been able to hush himself in the beginning. Almost paralyzed by the idea that he'd touched his brother, it was easy to delve farther into panic when the favor was being returned. At least then he could hide the depth of his need behind a mind numbing fear of impending consequence, or worse, an eventual lack of regard for them. But, Vegard's ability to mask his desire was fading. The more he discovered about his brother's body, the way it moved with his own, the harder he found himself twisting their bed sheets, curling his toes and biting his cheek. Anything to conceal the noises he knew Bård could siphon from him.

Vegard no longer depended upon these devices, but staring at his brother's hands as they traveled across his body, the familiar effects of muffled passion crept closer. He could feel it welling up inside of him slowly, demanding attention. The ambush was so sudden, so disorienting, that Vegard could barely comprehend its origins. 

All he could see was the memory of Arn's hands upon Bård's wrists. 


End file.
